Quotes About Speed

The speed of light sucks.

I'm one of the slowest drivers on the road. I mosey along. If you're doing anything too fast, including living life too fast, that creates sudden death. If I have to be somewhere on time, I make sure I leave early enough.

I suddenly had to chase after my pictures... Pictures are like taxis during rush hour - if you're not fast enough, someone else will get there first.

I thought: This is not racing, it's a suicide mission.

Obviously my strong suit is the 100 so that is what my main focus is on.

When I hit that pavement at 70 or 80 mph those suits just ripped.

In the past, I found myself on occasions not playing the game at the speed that suits me. I need to make sure I'm in control of what is going on out there as much as I can.

I sum up the prospects for 1967 in three short sentences. We are back on course. The ship is picking up speed. The economy is moving. Every seaman knows the command at such a moment: 'steady as she goes'.

There's no sort o' mistake in little Bullet. He can pick up miles on his feet, and fling 'em behind him as fast as the next man's hoss, I don't care where he comes from. And he can keep at it as long as the sun can shine without resting.

I've done drag races. I've done Long Beach Grand Prix stuff. I've done NASCAR stuff. Just about anything carwise under the sun, I've done. Whether it be driving schools or racing schools, I've had a passion for it for a long time.

I'd prefer no practices and just Saturday, Sunday. Just qualify Saturday morning, race Saturday afternoon, and race again Sunday. Less laps of nonsense and more laps of meaningful business.

I was a DC fan; The Flash was always my favorite character. He was sort of the most average guy amongst all of these icons, even though he had super speed, you know?

I'd love to drive a Bugatti - something totally ridiculous but super fast.

The market needs a super car with no excuses.

Working as a model is high-speed, and my own work in every sense is super slow and doubtful.

It's a special feeling when you are blasting through the park along the Monza straights, and there are so many really enthusiastic fans there. I have to admit, though, it's not only the racing I'm looking forward to, as Italian cuisine is superb.

In skating over thin ice, our safety is in our speed.

Have you ever watched the jet cars race on the boulevard?...I sometimes think drivers don't know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly...If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! He'd say, that's grass! A pink blur! That's a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows.

I sometimes think drivers don't know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly, she said. If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! he'd say, that's grass! A pink blur? That's a rose-garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows. My uncle drove slowly on a highway once. He drove forty miles an hour and they jailed him for two days. Isn't that funny, and sad, too?

When your dawn theater sounds to clear your sinuses: don't delay. Jump. Those voices may be gone before you hit the shower to align your wits. Speed is everything. The 90-mph dash to your machine is a sure cure for life rampant and death most real. Make haste to live. Oh, God, yes. Live. And write. With great haste.

Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests, Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending.

Mildred driving a hundred miles an hour across town, he shouting at her and she shouting back and both trying to hear what was said, but hearing only the scream of the car. At least keep it down to the minimum! he yelled. What? she cried. Keep it down to fifty-five, the minimum he shouted. The what? she shrieked. Speed! he shouted. And she pushed it up to one hundred and five miles and tore the breath from his mouth.

So swift was the motion that her bedroom slippers were left standing on the stepladder rungs.

La televisione è "reale", immediata, ha dimensioni. Ti dice cosa pensare, anzi te lo grida: deve essere giusto, sembra essere giusto. E ti precipita alle sue conclusioni così in fretta che la mente non ha il tempo di rispondere: "Quante sciocchezze!".